


Good Fences

by CaffieneKitty



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Chemicals, Dialogue-Only, Gen, Humor, Neighbors, Sherlock Being Sherlock, four plus one fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-25
Updated: 2011-03-25
Packaged: 2017-12-30 06:01:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1014977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaffieneKitty/pseuds/CaffieneKitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes, his various neighbours/landlords over the years and four times the door was slammed between them and one time it wasn’t. Or something. *handwaves*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Fences

**Author's Note:**

> Title from a line I had in a play once which I’ve since found out was cribbed from a poem by Robert Frost. No plot, only scenes.
> 
>  
> 
> _Originally posted on Livejournal March 25, 2011_

“Could you keep the violin down after midnight, please?”

“Why? You’re rarely in before two am, and while your spouse may be an idiot who genuinely believes you’re at the office that late, you and I both know that’s not true.”

“I resent that implication.”

“Oh, I’m not implying anything, I’m stating a fact.”

“I don’t take kindly to threats, you!”

“Mister Veitch, I am not threatening you. As I said, I am stating a fact. I have no interest in your personal life or peccadilloes beyond their possibility as motives for murder.”

“Murder? What? I’m not going to kill anyone!”

“Shame. Although I have high hopes for your mistress.”

“What?”

“Likes a lot of jewelry, does she? Has she asked you about your life insurance policy coverage yet?”

*SLAM*

-

“Oi, what do you want? It’s gone ten o’clock.”

“I need some peroxide and the shops are closed. Vitally important, life or death.”

“Some what?”

“Peroxide. Hydrogen peroxide. Did you not hear the part where I said ‘Life or death’?”

“I might have some, daughter’s got this bleach thing she does-”

“Streaks, yes, that’s why I’m asking you. She streaks her hair using peroxide, and I need some now or someone might _die._ ”

“Well. I’ll see if I can find- Hang on, you’ve been watching my daughter?”

“No more than I watch everyone else, though she does go out of her way to be noticeable. Peroxide? Now? Or must I break into the Boots down the road?”

“You keep your eyes off my daughter! I’m going to warn her about you!”

“Ugh, such pedestrian assumptions, will I never hear the end of them? Never mind, Boots it is then.”

“Stay away from my daughter!”

*SLAM*

-

“I’m sorry to trouble you, Mr. Holmes, but are your drains all right?”

“My what?”

“Drains.”

“Oh, I thought you said ‘brains’. My brains are fine, as are my drains.”

“It’s just... there’s a funny sort of smell coming down from your flat. The vents in your kitchen connect to mine.”

“Ah. That would be the formaldehyde.”

“Formaldehyde? What for?”

“Well, for the brains, _obviously._ ”

*SLAM*

-

“Can I help you? Oh, you’re the bloke from upstairs, aren’t you?”

“Yes. You are allergic to something. You sniffle every one and a half minutes on average and I can hear you through the floor.”

“Really! Ears like a bat, you’ve got!”

“Not really, the walls are quite thin and the floor is uninsulated and you’re driving me mad with the inexorable sniffing. It’s post-nasal drip water torture. Here.”

“What’s this then?”

“Antihistamine.”

“Well... that’s very kind of you!”

“This isn’t kindness, it’s self-preservation, because if I am forced to endure the sound of your mucous-impeded aspirations every ninety seconds, I _will_ kill something. Which would be unfortunate, as it would likely be you, and my tenuous relationship with Scotland Yard would be grievously impaired if I committed sinus-drainage-motivated murder.”

“I’m sorry, but you might do what?”

“Twice in each nostril every half hour. Must dash, I’ve got severed fingers on the stove.”

*SLAM*

-

“Any good murders in today, Sherlock?”

“No, only an insultingly inept fraud and some general testing on... hm. You probably don’t want to know.”

“Well, that’s all right then. I’ve just put the kettle on, dear. Will Dr. Watson be in soon?”

“No. He’s out.”

“At the surgery?”

“No. Never mind. Do you have a meat thermometer I could borrow?”

“Well, I do have one, but I’ve got a roast in for Sunday. Would I be getting it back before then?”

“Yes. Probably.”

“Would it be sanitary enough to use on something people would be eating? Possibly even yourself and Doctor Watson?”

“...Never mind.”

“I did replace some kitchen things with new not too long ago, I might have an old meat thermometer in the box of things for the charity shop. Never get round to taking it in. I’ll have a good look.”

“I would appreciate it, Mrs. Hudson.”

“Happy to help, Sherlock. I’ll bring you back some tea if nothing else. I always make too much for one, no sense it going to waste. You know my door is always open for you.”

“Always?”

“...Within reason, dear.”

\- - -  
(that’s all)


End file.
